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X 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



BY 



ALICE WELLINGTON ROLLINS 

I' 



" He but only kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith i write. 

A ring of Amethyst 
I could not wear here plainer to my sight 
Than that first kiss." 

— If/rs. Browning. 









NEW YORK 
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

182 FIFTH AVENUE 
1878 






Copyright by 

ALICE WELLINGTON ROLLINS 

1S78 



CONTENTS. 



THE RING AND THE BOOK : 

THE RING : — TO GEORGE ELIOT .... V 

THE BOOK: — TO D. M. R vi 

TO THE CRITIC vii 

NARCISSUS viii 

PROEM ix 

JOY . . I 

PAIN 3 

A STUDY 5 

"many THINGS THOU HAST GIVEN ME, DEAR 

heart" 7 

brutus at philippi ..... 8 

"vino SANTO " TO H. H 9 

CHARM 12 

A FACE 14 

LOVE WILL FIND OUT A WAY . . -17 

SUMNER 18 

SIGHT 29 

PURITY 30 

A ROSE 32 

RUE WITH A DIFFERENCE ... 33 



11 CONTENTS. 

TO MAY H. R 34 

CYCLES 35 

EXPERIENCE 37 

A TRUST IN GOD 38 

FORESIGHT 41 

TO FRANK S. R . WITH A VIOLIN . . 42 

" THE EAGER SUN COMES GLADLY FROM THE SEA " 43 

RESERVE 44 

A SONG OF SUMMER . . . . 47 

THOUGHT 50 

A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE . . . 5 1 

A REMEMBERED CRITIC. TO J. R. D. . . 52 

DAWN 53 

WITH AN ANTIQUE 55 

DOUBT 56 

"l KNOW MYSELF THE BEST BELOVED OF ALL " 58 

OCTOBER 59 

serenity 61 

"a year ago to-day, love" ... 62 

STEADFAST d^t 

WITH A CRYSTAL LION. FOR L. R. W. . . 64 

ABSENT-MINDED dd 

ANSWERED PRAYER 68 

EXPRESSION 69 

FULFILLMENT 71 



CONTENTS. 



Ill 



THERE WIIX BE SILENCE HERE, LOVE 



FAITH IN WORKS . 
"no. :iyTy — A PORTRAIT. 
LONGING 
THE NEW DAY 
CONFESSION . 



FOR R. H. L. 



AMONG THOSE JOYS FOR WHICH WE UTTER 
PRAISE." . 



BECAUSE 

IVY .... 

INFLUENCE 

MIRACLE 

"she came and went" 
dreamers 
andromeda 
love song 

CLOSED 

BABYHOOD. M. W. R. 

"iF I COULD KNOW, LOVE. 

THE DIFFERENCE 

INDIAN SUMMER 

LAST — AN AMETHYST. 



73 

74 

75 
76 

73 

79 

82 

83 

85 

86 

88 

89 

91 

93 

97 

98 

100 

102 

103 

104 

108 



-THE RING AND THE BOOK." 

THE RING. TO GEORGE ELIOT. 



As she, thy Dorothea, loved of thee. 
Refused to wear in careless ornament 
The amethysts and emeralds that lent 

Their charm to other women ; — even as she, 

Turning one day by chance the golden key 
Of their close casket, started as they sent 
Swift, glowing rays to greet her, and then bent 

To lift them in her white hands lovingly ;— 



O great of heart, so calmly dost thou stand 
In the proud splendor of thy fame, and bring 

Thy glorious gifts to all the listening land, — 
Thou canst not greatly care what I may sing ! 
Yet since I hold to thee my amethyst ring. 

Take it one little moment in thy hand ! 



VI. 



THE BOOK. To D. M. R. 



Dear, if this little bock of thine and mine 
Could bring me fame as glorious and rare 
As that whose splendid laurels shine so fair 

For Dorothea, it were less divine 

A gift than this most priceless love of thine. 
Since, then, that came to me, why now despair 
Of laurel ? though I may not hope to wear 
Laurel or myrtle as the precious sign 
Of any proud desert. Yet if I might 
Not find that love could keep its holy tryst 
With fame, how quickly would I yield the bright 
New dream, to keep my ring of amethyst : 
The memory of that day when love first kissed 
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write ! 



VII. 
TO THE CRITIC. 



I KNOW full well I cannot pour for you 
The nectar of the gods ;— no epic wine 
Is this I bring, to tempt you with its fine 
Poetic flavor, as of grapes that grew 
In the young vineyards when the world was new, 
And only poets wrote ; — a slender vine 
You scarce will care for, bore these grapes of mine, 
From which frail hands have crushed the purple dew. 
Yet if from what I bring you, there is missed 
The lyric loveliness of some who write, 
The passionate fervor and the keen delight 
Of eloquent fire in some to whom you list, — 
Think it may be, not that the gift is slight, 
But that my cup is rimmed with amethyst ! 



VIII. 

NARCISSUS. 
TO THE READER. 



If haply in these pages you should read 
Aught that seems true to human nature, true 
To heavenly instincts ; — if they speak to you 

Of love, of sorrow, faith without a creed, 

Of doubt, of hope, of longing, — or indeed 
Of any pain or joy the poet knew 
A heart could feel, — think not to find a clue 

To his own heart — its gladness or its need. 

From a deep spring with tangled weeds o'ergrown 
The poet parts the leaves ; if they who pass, 
Bending to look down through the tall wild grass, 

By winds of heaven faintly overblown. 
Should start to see there, dimly in a glass. 

Some face, 'tis not the poet's, but their own ! 



IX. 



PROEM. 



I WONDER, little book, if after all 

I greatly care whether with praise or blame 
Men turn your leaves. Once, the fair hope of fame 

Had made me wonder what fate should befall 

My first faint singing ; now I cannot call 
The singing mine ; I gave it him who came 
To place my joy where no harsh touch can maim 

Its safe, secure, bright beauty. Like a wall 
Of strong defence to me this blessedness : 

That of his love I am so proudly sure. 

Though the whole world should bend to my success, 

I think he could not love me any more ! 

And though the whole world say my book is poor, 
I know he will not love me any less ! 



JOY. 



Y heart was like a flower once, 
That from its jewel-tinted cup 
The generous fragrance of its joy 

To all the world sent floating up. 
But now 'tis like a humming-bird, 

That in the cup his bright wing dips, 
And with most dainty selfishness 
Himself the choicest honey sips, 
With eager, thirsty, longing lips ! 

And once my heart was like a gem, 

Set in a fair betrothal ring ; 
Content to light the happy darks 

That shield love's shy self-wondering. 
But now I think my heart is like 

The lady fair who wears the ring ; 
Pressed closely to her lips at night 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

With love's mysterious wondering 
That hers should be the precious thing ! 

And once my heart was like a nest, 

Where singing-birds have made their home ; 
Set where the apple-boughs in bloom 

Fleck the blue air with flower-foam. 
But now it is itself a bird ; 

And if it does not always sing, 
The Heavenly Father knows what thoughts, — 

Too strangely sweet for uttering, — 

Stir faintly underneath its wing ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



PAIN. 

iKwalY heart was once a folded flower, 
llaffiJI Within whose jewel-tinted cup,- 
Still hidden even from itself, — 

A wealth of joy is treasured up. 
But now my heart is like a flower 

From which a dainty humming-bird 
Has rifled all the choicest sweets, 

And left without one last fond word 

The flower-soul so deeply stirred. 

And once my heart was like a gem, 
Set in a rich betrothal ring ; 

Unconscious in its darkened case 
How fair it lies there glittering. 

But now I think my heart is like 
The lady who has worn the ring, 

And draws it from her finger slight 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

With love's bewildered wondering 

That love should be a poor bruised thing. 

And once my heart was like a nest, 
High in the apple branches hung ; 

Where in the early April dew 
No happy birds have ever sung. 

Now 'tis itself a wounded bird ; 

And though sometimes you hear it sing, 

The Heavenly Father knows what pain 
It tries to hide by uttering 
The same sweet notes it used to sing. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



A STUDY. 



THINK, indeed, 'twas only this that made 
Her seem peculiar : namely, she had no 
Peculiarity. The world to-day 
Is disappointed if we are not odd, 
And hold decided views on some one point. 
Or else unsettled views on all. But she 
Was living simply w^iat she wished to live : 
A lovely life of rounded womanhood ; 
With no sharp, salient points for eye or ear 
To seize and pass quick judgment on. Not quite 
Content was she to let the golden days 
Slip from her fingers like the well-worn beads 
Of some long rosary, told o'er and o'er 
Each night with dull, mechanical routine ; 
But yet she had no central purpose ; no 
Absorbing aim to which all else mast yield ; 
And so the very sweetness of her life. 



6 THE RING OF AMETHYST, 

Its exquisite simplicity and calm, 
Musical in its silence, smote the ear 
More sharply than the discords of the rest. 
So do we grow accustomed far at sea 
To jar and clang of harsh machinery, 
And sleep profoundly in our narrow berths 
Amid the turmoil ; but if suddenly 
The noisy whirr is silent, and the deep 
Low murmur of the moonlit sea is all 
That stirs the air, we waken with a start, 
And ask in terror what has happened ! Then 
Sink back again upon the pillows ; strange. 
That silence should have wakened us ! 

Alas! 
The world has grown so feverishly hot 
With restless aims and poor ambitious dreams. 
That lives which have the cool and temperate flow 
Of healthful purpose in their veins, will seem 
Peculiar ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



"MANY THINGS THOU HAST GIVEN ME, 
DEAR HEART." 



ANY things thou hast given me, dear heart ; 
But one thing thou hast taken : that high 
dream 
Of heaven as of a country that should seem 
Beyond all glory that divinest art 
Has pictured : — with this I have had to part 

Since knowing thee ; — how long, love, will the 

gleam 
Of each day's sunlight on my pathway stream, 
Richer than what seemed richest at the start ? 

Make my days happy, love ; yet I entreat 
Make not each happier than the last for me ; 

Lest heaven itself should dawn to me, complete 
In joy, not the surprise I dreamed 'twould be, 

But simply as the natural and sweet 
Continuance of days spent here with thee. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



BRUTUS AT PHILIPPI. 

|'gij|^|OME, for whose haughtier sake proud Caesar 

His legions hers, to win her victories, 
Denied him when her gods let Casca's blade 

Pierce him who learned to make her legions his. 
Still he is mighty ; with unchanging dread 

Her people murmur for great Ccesar slain ; 
Nor value, at the price of C?ssar dead, 

Their greater cause lost on Philippi's plain. 
If haply there are fields, as some pretend, 

Beyond the silent Styx, where vaguely grim 
Souls of dead heroes, shadowy and dim, 

Awake, — I may find entrance at life's end, 
Not as a hero who freed Rome from him, 

But as a man who once was Caesar's friend ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

"VINO SANTO." 
TO II. II. 

TASTE the cup of sacred wine, 
Nor count with you the cost too great 
For those who steadfastly can wait ; 
Though grapes of fragrance so divine 
Should ripen to their vintage late. 

Gathered when only richest suns 
Pour down a wealth of golden fire ; 
Pressed while the holy heart's desire 

Breathes grateful for these perfect ones, 

And solemn prayer floats high and higher ;— 

Type of a love that lets no stain 
Of doubt or dullness mar its creed ; 
But patient through its own great need 

Of loving, wins its sure domain, — 
Such love, such wine, is pure indeed. 



lO THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Yet as I turn to pour for you, — 

Vivid and sparkling at your gaze, — 
My own heart's vintage, — let me praise 

This glowing wine as holy, too ; 

Since love may come in many ways. 

And mine came to me as a star 

Shines suddenly from worlds apart ; 
And suddenly my lifted heart 

Caught the rare brightness from afar 
And mirrored its swift counterpart. 

Love born of instant trust and need, 
Each heart of each ; a love that knew 
No test of time to prove it true. 

No fostering care ; without a seed 
It seemed as if the flower grew ! 

And you whose tender love was nursed 
In strong sweet patience, till the wine 
Of joy became for you divine, 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Ripened in sunlight from the first, — 
Will not refuse to this of mine 

A sacredness ; remembering, — 
By miracle changed instantly, — 
The holy wine of Galilee ; — 

Even so the wine of joy I bring 

For you to taste, was changed for me ! 



1 2 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 



CHARM. 

NE day in June a crimson-breasted bird 
Flitted from Heaven through the golden air, 
And lit upon an apple-bough, that stirred 

With rapture of delight to hold her there ; 
And finding at the same time on its breast 

A wealth of flowers, rose-red lined with snow, 
Believed in joy its graceful little guest 

Had brought them with her, and so murmured 
low 
In greeting, — " Little bird, a poor old tree 
Scarce can breathe worthily its thanks to thee. 
For these sweet flowers thou hast brought to me ! " 

And then the pretty bird whose restless feet 
Danced in and out among the blossoms there. 

For very joyousness sent rippling sweet 
A carol of bright laughter through the air. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



13 



Flushing vritli joy, the blooming sprays swung high, 

Responsive to the quiver of her wings ; 
As light of heart beneath the summer sky 

Her voice ceased suddenly its twitterings, 
To murmur back, " Thou foolish, dear old tree. 
It is not I -who bring the flowers to thee, 
But thy most tempting flowers that bring me ! " 



14 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



A FACE. 

We have known 
Of many a man whose features were not carved 
By his own soul to their high nobleness, 
But handed down by some far ancestor. 
Strange, that a man a generation long 
Should do good deeds that mould his generous lips 
To noble curves, and then should die and leave 
His son the curves without the nobleness. 
We've known of many a woman, many a man. 
Whose own soul leaped in passionate high flames ; 
But locked behind the fatal prison bars 
Of cold ancestral dignity of face. 
No glimmer of the light and warmth within 
Creeps to the surface. 

But this face of hers 
Is not a face like those we've analyzed ; 
True to its wearer, it is justly proud 



THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 1 5 

With her own pride and not her ancestors. 

Were you to chide her gently for some fault, 

Or promise that whatever grand mistakes 

Her woman's impulses might lead her to, 

You would judge all with Christian charity, 

Tis not impossible that she would say, 

" Sir, I make no mistakes ; I have no faults ; 

I thank you, but I need no charity ! " 

Well, what of that ? I would that there were more 

Of us, who, bidden to confess our sins, 

Could say Job's litany : " May God forbid 

That you be justified ! my righteousness 

Will I hold fast and will not let it go ; 

My heart shall not reproach me while I live ! " 

Humility 's a grace at thirty-nine, 

But scarce a virtue in the very young, 

Who bend to us from fear, not reverence. 

Nor truly humble is the violet 

That keeps its face quite upturned to the sun 

And would grow higher if it could ; it cannot. 

Better for our young friend the haughtiness 



1 6 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 

Of Strong white lilies that refuse to bloom 

Near the dark earth they rose from ; eagerly 

They push aside the lazy weeds that hide 

The upper air ; and keeping in their breasts 

The fair white secret of their blossoming, 

Rise to the heaven they worship. Suddenly, 

Awed at the vast immensity of light 

That wraps the earth as with a garment ; awed 

By the deep silence of that upper air, 

They bend their stately heads, to breathe to earth 

A murmured penitence for olden pride. 

The fair white bells they kept so jealously 

Lifted to heaven, now they overturn, 

And let the cherished fragrance of their souls 

Swing censer-like upon the general air. 

You'll look at it again ? 
No, I have put it back ; it's not a face 
I like to argue over with a friend. 
It is a woman's face ; and what is more, 
A face I care for ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



"LOVE WILL FIND OUT A WAY." 



17 






HAT Love should find a way through iron bars 
And close-drawn bolts — this does not seem 



More strange I count it that with wider range, 
With naught to mark its course beneath the stars, 
Love finds its sure, swift way. That day when we 
First parted, Love, how dangerously near 
The chance we never met again ! though clear 
In the broad daylight, unrestrained and free 
As breeze from heaven, naught between us lay 
But the wide, shining, trackless fields of air 
That gave no sign ; the lonely vastness, where 
Love saw no clue to guide it, or to stay 
Its course ; — well might the lover in despair 
Yield up his search ; — and yet Love found a way ! 



1 8 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 



SUMNER. 

I. 

EAD! 

But not where the flashing guns 
Bring in a moment's gUttering space 
Death, — and heaven — and deathless fame- 
To Victory's sons. 
Dead ! 

But not where the crimson flame, 
Leaping fierce in a cruel grace, 
From the earthly clod 
Burns away all pitiful dross 
Till a martyr's soul on fiery cross 
Ascends to God. 
Whose life was martyrdom 
Shall be spared a martyr's death 
In winning a martyr's crown. 
No struggle for restless breath ; — 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

A life laid calmly down ; — 

Eloquent lips grown dumb ; — 

Only for us the pain, 

And the agony of loss ; 

Only for us the test ; 

For him, the wonderful gain, 

For him, a longed-for rest. 

II. 

Dead! 

And the mother state, 

Mother of noble sons. 

Reaches her yearning arms. 

Give him back to her now ! 

Cold is the kingly brow. 

Noblest of noble ones ! 

He cannot serve you now ; 

Unheeding earthly things, 

The royal soul, so great 

To shield from threatening harms, 

Has passed through a silent gate 



20 THE RING OF A ME Til YST. 

That never outward swings. 

Living, the world had need 

Of him and his deathless name ; — 

Living, the world had need 

Of him and his stainless fame ; — 

Living, we knew her need 

Of him, and confessed her claim ; — 

Dead, he is only ours ! 

Cover his bier with flowers ; 

Give him back to us now ! 

IIL 

Nay ! 

Let Massachusetts wait ! 

In the capitol of the great 

Let the statesman lie in state. 

Let the house be draped in woe ; 

Let the sentinel below 

Pace solemnly to and fro. 

All night let the tireless street 

Echo the sad, slow feet 



THE RING OF A ME TH YST. 2 1 

Of those who come and go. 
All day let the voiceless street 
In silence then repeat 
The name we honor so. 
Let the Senate chamber ring 
Once more with his eloquence, 
The eloquence of his death ! 
Let choicest flowers bring, 
Delicate and intense, 
Tribute of fragrant breath. 
For ever the gentlest thing 
With strongest love will cling 
To one so grandly great. 
Let Massachusetts wait ! 
Honored by every land. 
Around him there shall stand 
The noblest of each state ! 
And a nation's tears be shed 
For our Massachusetts' dead ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

IV. 

Living, there was none so poor 
That he need to hesitate 
Loftiest aid from him to claim ; — 
Dead, there is not one so great, 
Standing now at his right hand, 
But may tremble so to stand ; 
Lest the touchstone of that pure 
Stainless soul and deathless fame 
Prove all poor who seem so great ! 

V. 

Now, 

To his mother where she stands. 

Envied by the childless lands. 

Bring him back with reverent hands. 

Lonely mother, it is well 

That your sorrowing lips should tell 

Once again repentant woe 

For the wound of long ago. 

For rebuke that hurt him so ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

No reproof could alienate 

Patriot soul from patriot state ; — 

Grandly patient, he could wait, 

Cancelling reproachful past, 

Words that almost came too late ! 

" You were right and w^e were wrong ! " 

Strong and clear they came at last ; 

And his sovereign spirit, great 

In forgiveness for the long 

Silent strain so gently borne, 

Hearing Massachusetts mourn 

For the wrong that she had done 

Turned to her, her reverent son. 

Ere her last word met his ear, 

He had answered — he is here ! 

VI. 

Here ! 

At the city gates ! 

And the long procession waits 

To bear him to his bier. 



23 



24 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

No sound of muffled drums 
Tells that a hero comes ; 
No volleying cannon roll 
The loss of a leader's soul ; 
Not with the aid of these 
Had he won his victories ; 
He never loved such voice ; — 
Let not these be our choice 
To give this pain relief ; 
For the people's hearts are mute 
With the passion of their grief. 
Break not upon his peace 
With Massachusetts guns ! 
Only a tolling bell 
To the sorrowing state shall tell 
That the noblest of her sons, — 
Highest in the world's repute, 
Lowliest in the toil he gave, — 
Given of God this swift release, 
Comes at last from her to crave 
For the service that he gave 
The guerdon of a grave ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

VII. 

Dark 
Over all, 

Falls the twilight like a pall. 
Kindlevnot the restless flare 
Of the midnight torches' glare ; 
Let the restful stars look down, 
Silent through the clear, cold air. 
High and pure as his renown ! 
Pale against the evening sky 
Burns the banner that ye drape 
With the heavy folds of crape ; 
And ye have no need to tie 
All its fluttering crimson back 
With those heavy folds of black ; — 
For the very winds to-day 
Droop with sadnesss, nor would care 
With their crimson toy to play ! 

VIII. 
He is here ! 
Massachusetts called him back, 



25 



2 6 THE RING OF A ME Til YS T. 

And he answered — he is here ! 
Let the walls be hung with black, 
Yet let roses richly red 
On the casket of the dead • 
Be in bright profusion spread ; 
And all night with solemn tread 
Let the dusky sentinel, 
Guarding what he loved so well, 
Guarding what he held so dear» 
Pace beside the quiet bier ! 

IX. 

O beautiful sad day ! 
All of earthly must we lay 
In the silent grave away. 
And the very Winter, pale 
At the sight of so much grief. 
From her harshness will relent ; 
Stoop to brush away the snow 
From the frozen earth below 
Where the noble dead shall lie. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 27 



Let no glorious dome less high 
Than the over-arching sky- 
Bend above that royal grave ; 
And for living monument, 
Over it shall rise and wave 
Living flower and living leaf. 
Lay your costly roses down, 
Civic wreath and cross and crown ; 
These are frail ! 
Spring shall be your sentinel ; 
Guarding now untiring here 
All of what we held so dear, 
All of what we loved so well ! 
Lay your costly roses down, 
Civic wreath and crown and cross; 
Turn away with hearts made great 
By the greatness of your loss ! 
Spring shall wait; — 
To her sacred care entrust 
All of what is left us here : — 
Dust to dust ! 



28 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Lay your costly roses down, 

Civic wreath and cross and crown ; 

These are frail ! 

In the dim, unwonted shade, 

These will fade ! 

But when next ye come this way, 

Ye shall find the Spring still here ; 

And a grave with violets set ; 

Purple, living violet. 

With the tears of heaven wet. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



29 



SIGHT. 

TRY to make the baby on my knee 
Look at the sunset ; pointing where it glows 



Beyond the window-pane in tints of rose 

And violet and gold ; when suddenly 

He dimples with responsive baby-glee, 

I think how wonderfully well he knows 

Its beauty ; till the changing child-face shows 

He had not seen the sky, but laughed to see 

The sparkle of my rings ; — O baby dear, 

This world of lovely gems and sunsets, bright 

With children's faces, — is perhaps the near 

Though lesser glory, dazzling our poor sight, 

Until we cannot see, for very light, 

The heaven that shines for us, revealed and clear. 



30 THE RING OF AMETHYST, 



PURITY. 

Some souls are white 
With perfectness, Hke stars full-orbed in heaven, 
Silently moving through the stainless blue ; 
Seeming naught of their nature to have drawn 
From contact with the earth ; and some are white 
With innocence, like daisies that too near 
The ground their fair leaves fearlessly unfold. 

This woman's soul 
Is white with purity ; the snowy bloom 
Of a camelia, that feels no disdain 
In drawing from this common earth of ours 
The sources of its beauty and its life ; 
Yet with a wise and lofty self-control, 
Refuses long to blossom to the sun ; 
Spreading its glossy leaves to light and air ; 
Winning a deep, sure knowledge of the Avorld ; 
Rising with quiet dignity and grace 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 31 



Into a higher air ; and when at last 

Its stately petals open to the day, 

Not with the daisy's foolish trustfulness, 

But with the confidence of slow- won strength, 

To the world's gaze it silently unfolds 

The perfect flower of a royal soul, 

Not innocent, and yet forever pure. 



32 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



A ROSE. 



AST night a little rose of love was laid 
Softly in this poor hand, by one who knew 
Not what most gracious breeze from heaven blew 
The blossom in his path ; but since, he said, 
All loveliest things he summoned to his aid 
To win me, — let the fragrant flower that grew 
Surely in Paradise to help him woo 
And gain his wish, — be mine ; then half afraid, 
Here on my breast I laid it, where it glows 
With such rich sudden beauty, that my eyes, 
Quickened by some new instinct, recognize 
What is indeed my own ; for the fair rose, — 
The rose of love bewilderingly sweet — 
From my own heart had fallen at his feet ! 



THE RING OF A ME TH YST. 33 



RUE WITH A DIFFERENCE. 

It is said 
That women are more curious than men ; — 
I should not put it so : they are more frank. 
A woman who would like to know if this 
Or that be so or so, makes no disguise, 
But lifts her clear eyes candidly to yours 
And asks directly, " Is this true ? " a man, 
More wise and quite as curious, simply states 
A fact : *' This is so ;' knowing well indeed 
That if it is not, no true woman needs 
A sharper challenge instantly to arm 
Her soul with weapons to defend herself, 
Her country, or her friends ; and so he gains 
The knowledge that he wished, and yet has shown 
No idle curiosity ! 



34 THE RING OF A ME Til YS T, 



TO MAY H. R- 



ANY a lovely dream a poet might 

Weave into fancies round thy lovely name, 
Sweetheart ; yet I, who surely have no claim 
To be a poet, — (save the holy right 
Love gives me to write poems at the sight 
Of a young face whose eager brightness came 
As part of life's best gift to me, — ) can frame 
No fitter reason why in such delight 
I hold the one sweet syllable, than this i 
Not for its visions of the field or wood, 
But for its wealth of possibilities ; 
Its hint of undefined, ideal good, 
Suggesting all thy soul can scarcely miss. 
That May one day crown thy rich womanhood. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



CYCLES. 



35 



fING cheerily, O bluebird from on high ! 
Earth will be blue with violets by-and-by, 



More blue than those you came from in the sky. 

Haste, butterflies ! for radiant Summer brings 
A crimson rose to match your sunlit wings, 
Brighter than violets the blue-bird sings. 

Croon, happy insects ; violet and rose 

Have faded ; yet the autumn corn-field glows 

Where in the golden grain the poppy grows. 

Hush, eager voices ! for in dreamless sleep, 
Wrapped in cool snow, the restless earth would keep 
Forevermore serenity so deep. 

Forevermore ? nay, tired earth, not so ; 

Sweet as the violets of long ago 

The pink arbutus rises from the snow. 



36 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Gathered too eagerly, it fades too soon ; 
Then large white lilies open wide in June 
Their golden hearts up to the golden noon. 

And when the perfect lily in the gleam 

Of too much sunlight, fades like a fair dream, 

The crimson cardinals fringe the brightening stream. 

Then once again the softly falling snow ; 
While bright above the ivy green below 
The scarlet berries of the holly glow. 



THE RING OF A ME Til YS T. 3 7 



EXPERIENCE. 



CHILD laid in the grave ere it had known 
Earth held delight be3^ond its mother's kiss; — 
A fair girl passing from a world like this 
Into God's vast eternity, alone ; — 
A brave man's soul in one brief instant thrown 
To deepest agony from highest bliss ; — 
A woman steeling her young heart to miss 
All joys in life, one dear one having flown ; — 
These have I seen ; yet happier these, I said, 
Than one who by experience made strong, 
Learning to live without the precious dead. 
Survive despair, outlive remorse and wrong, 
Can say when new grief comes, with unbowed head, 
"Let me not mourn i J shall forget ere long ! " 



38 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



A TRUST IN GOD. 

She knew 
She was not wise ; was conscious in herself 
Of eager impulses that would have wrecked 
Her whole heart's happiness a thousand times, 
Had not some Power from without herself 
Shut down the sudden gates, and with its stern 
'^ Thou shalt 7iot/" left her, stunned perhaps, but 

saved. 
For she was but a woman, and her will 
Hung poised upon her heart, and swayed with each 
Quick-passing impulse, like a humming-bird 
Lit tremulous on some rich-tinted flower. 
Rich-tinted, truly ; no forget-me-not, 
Placid with blue serenity ; nor yet 
That regal flower, stately in its calm 
Fair dignity, that hoards its loveliness 
From common gaze, with instinct to discern 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

The presence of unworthy worshippers. 
Not till the twilight shadows have shut out 
The common crowd that would have rifled all 
Its queenly beauty, — does it condescend 
For him who with a patient reverence 
Has waited, to unfold with lovely grace 
The royal petals ; and it droops and dies 
Before the garish day has ushered in 
Again the curious crowd. 

This woman's soul 
Was not so snowy in its purity, 
And not so keen in its fine instincts ; nay, 
But tinted with all splendid hues, intense 
With high enthusiasms, and yet indeed 
Not passionate, but pure as lilies are. 
Transparent flames are surely just as pure 
As icicles ; and something of the rich 
And brilliant glow of her own nature fell 
On everyone about her, till they stood 
Transfigured in her eyes, w^ith glory caught 
From her own loveliness. She was not keen 



39 



40 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



To judge of human nature ; she beUeved 
All men were noble ; and a thousand times 
The poor heart would have offered up its all 
On some unworthy shrine, had not the fates 
Kindly removed the shrine. How could she help 
Believe that God had stooped from highest heaven, 
To save her from herself ? 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



FORESIGHT. 



41 



NEAR, O heavy clouds, the gated West ! 
That this most weary day, beholding so 
Her goal, may hasten her sad steps ; I know 
She comes without fair gifts ; upon her breast 
Close-clasped, the pale cold hands together pressed 
Hold nothing ; — then let some red sunset glow 
Tempt her to seek the unknown world below 
The far horizon where she hopes for rest ! 

At last the day, like some poor toil-worn slave, 
Passes, and leaves in sooth no gift for me ; — 
Yet I, who thought my heart could be so brave 
To bear what I had wisdom to foresee. 
Sob in despair, as this poor day that gave 
Me nothing, sinks behind the western sea ! 



42 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



TO FRANK S. R . 

WITH A VIOLIN. 

HE Stately trees that in the forest grow 

Are not all destined for the same high thing ; 



Some burn to useless cinders in the glow 

Of the hearth-fire ; while some are meant to sing 

For centuries the never-dying song 

Once caught from wandering breeze or lingering bird 

So clearly ar^d so surely, that the strong 

Firm wood was quickly seized by one who heard, 

To fashion his dear violin ; — even so 

Our human souls are fashioned ; some will fade 

Away to useless ashes, others grow 

Immortal through the sweetness they have made. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



43 



THE EAGER SUN COMES GLADLY FROM 
THE SEA." 



m 



HE eager sun comes gladly from the sea ; 
Remembering that one short year ago 
He rose from unknown worlds of light below 
Those same far waves, to shine on you and me 
Standing: together on the shore ; — but we 
Are strangely far apart to-day ; and so 
The saddened sun with lingering step and slow 
Climbs the horizon, wondering not to see 
Your face beside mine ; nor can understand 
As we do, dear, that you and I to-day, — 
Though million miles of ocean or of land 
And centuries of time between us lay, — 
Are nearer to each other than when hand 
Touched hand, before we gave our hearts away ! 



44 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



RESERVE. 

I hear you praise 
What you are pleased to call unsounded depths 
Of character ; a nature that the world 
Would call reserved ; tempting you while it hides- 
Or you suspect it hides — a richer wealth 
Deep in some far recesses of the soul. 
As if, indeed, you should approve the host 
Who with most admirable courtesy 
Should throw wide open to your curious gaze 
His drawing-room, his green-house and his hall ; 
Yet should not hesitate to let you see 
Certain close-bolted doors of hardest oak, 
Upoai whose thresholds he informed you, " Here, 
Alas ! I cannot let you enter." 

You 
At once are filled with curiosity 
To listen at the keyhole. 



& » 



THE RING OT AMETHYST. 45 

So am I ; 
Yet much I doubt if after all those deep 
Recesses of the soul are filled Vvdth aught 
But emptiness. Too thick the cobwebs han 
The master of the house can scarce himself 
Feel tempted to draw back such heavy bolts ; 
Although he take an honorable pride, 
Leaning at ease in comfortable chair, 
To know there are some chambers in his soul 
Unentered even by himself. 

But him 
I call reserved, whose clear eyes seem a well 
Of frank sincerity ; whose smiling lips, 
Curving with hospitable gayety. 
Bid you most welcome to his house and home 
Throwing wide open to your curious gaze 
Each nook and corner ; leaving you at ease 
To wander where you will ; and if at times 
You half suspect some hidden sweet retreat 
Where hyacinths are blossoming unseen, 
Tis not because cold iron-bolted doors 



46 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T, 

Whisper of secrets you would fain explore ; 
But that the tapestries upon the wall 
So lightly hang, that swaying to and fro, 
They half betray a fragrance from within. 
You never once suspect that secret doors 
Are sliding in the panels underneath ; 
But when you go, the master of the house 
Lifts easily the soft and shining silk, 
To find there sacred silence from you all. 

'Tis easier 
To read the secrets of a dark, deep pool 
That coldly says, " You cannot fathom me," 
With unstirred face turned blankly to the sky, 
Than catch the meaning of a silver spring, 
Though crystal-clear, above whose bright full heart 
Delicate vine-leaves flutter in the sun. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 47 



A SONG OF SUMMER. 

ADEN with gifts of your giving, 
O summer of June ! 
With the rapturous idyl of Uving 
In perfect attune ; 

With the sweetness of eve when it closes 
A day of delight ; 

With the tremulous breath of the roses 
Entrancing the night ; 
With the glow of your cardinal flowers 
On lips that had paled ; 
And the coolness of silvery showers 
For hands that had failed ; 
With geraniums vivid with fire 
To wear on my breast, 
Where the lilies had paled with desire 
To bring to me rest ; 

With the joy that was born of your brightness 
Still thrilling my soul, 



48 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

And a heart whose bewildering lightness 

I cannot control ; 

Ah ! now that your idyl of living 

Is over too soon, 

What gifts can compare with your giving, 

O summer of June ? 

Then a wraith of the winter said gently, 

" I will not deceive ; 

Of the brightness you prize so intently 

No trace shall I leave. 

The glow of the cardinal flowers 

Shall pass from the field, 

And the softness of silvery showers 

To ice be congealed ; 

The geraniums vivid with fire 

Shall curl at the heart ; 

And the lily forget the desire 

Its peace to impart ; 

Pale as the rose that is dying, 

Your whitening cheek ; 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Faint as its tremulous sighing, 

Words you would speak ; 

For a joy that was born of their brightness 

I tremble with you, 

When the gleam and the glory and lightness 

Shall pass with the dew. 

Ah ! now that your idyl of living 

Is over so soon, 

What gifts will be left of your giving, 

O summer of June ?" 



49 



50 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



THOUGHT. 



PALACE richly furnished is the mind, 
In whose fair chambers we may walk at will ; 
And in its cloistered calm, serene and still. 
Continual delight and comfort find. 
Not only fretful cares we leave behind, 
But restless happiness, and hopes that fill 
The eager soul with too much light, until 
Eyes dazzled see less wisely than the blind. 
So perfect is the joy we find therein, 
No pleasures of the outer world compare 
With the divine repose so gladly sought ; 
When from the wearying world we turn to win 
High mental solitude, and clierish there 
Silent companionship with lofty thought. 



THE RING OF A ME TH YST, 31 



A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE. 



THOUGHT to hold thy memory as the sea 
Holds in its heart a pale reflected moon, 



Lost when the sunny radiance of noon 
Dissolves the moonlight's tender mystery. 

Lo ! thou art not her semblance in the seas, 
But the fair moon herself, that near or far, 
Orbed high in heaven as a shining star 

Or hid from sight at love's antipodes ; — 

Still sways the waters with love's restless tides ; 
Not by her own will ; no coquette is she, — 
The lovely moon to whom I liken thee ; — 

For high above our earthly air she glides, 

Unconscious as the waves that rise to greet 
Her coming, of the mystery of God's law 
Compelling her those far-off waves to draw 

Forever towards her whom they never meet. 



52 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

A REMEMBERED CRITIC. 
TO J. R. D. 



IND words, that greater kindness still implied 
From one unused to praise, for one unknown 

To him and to the world where he had grown 
Less wont to cheer the artist than to chide ; 
And always in my heart I thought with ])ride 

Some day to know him, and for him alone 

Bring the fair finished work, that he might own — 
'' O friend, behold my full faith justified ! " 

Now he is dead ! a man severe, they said 
Who knew the critic ; but around the spot 

We call his grave, by som^ sweet memory led 
Of kindred sweetness, violets have not 
Refused to bloom ; and one he had forgot 

Wept suddenly to hear that he was dead. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



DAWN. 



53 



AKE, happy heart, O awake ! 
For the mists are flitting away ; 
And the hawthorn boughs for thy sake 
Are eager and longing to break 

Into garlands of blossoming spray. 
Sing, sing it, O gay little linnet ! 
And hasten, O glad lark, to bring it, 
The beautiful Day ! 

Dawn, I am hungry with yearning 
For gifts thou canst give ; — 

The proud soul within me is burning 
With new life to live. 

1 am strong with the strength of long sleeping ; 

Fill full now each vein 
With rich crimson wine thou art keeping 

For glad hearts to drain ! 
O hush ! for the clouds break asunder ; 

Her delicate feet 
Touch the hills with a reverent wonder 



54 



THE RING OF AMETHYST, 



If earth will be sweet. 
And the heart that within me was breaking 

With longing for her, 
Breaks utterly, now that awaking 

I hear her low stir. 
So frail and so dainty and tender ; 

What heart could foresee 
That the goddess it longed for, a slender 

Young fairy would be ? 
Empty-handed, she dreads my displeasure, 

And turns half away ; 
'Tis for me then to give of my treasure, 

O beautiful Day ! 
Appealing, she waits till I greet her, 

With no gifts for me ; 
Dear Day, after all it is sweeter 

For me to crown thee ! 
If I am not a happier maiden 

Because of thy stay, 
Thou shalt be with bright gifts from me laden, 
A happier Day ! 



THE RING OF A ME TH VST. 55 



WITH AN ANTIQUE. 

|HE old, old story men would call our love ; 
One cannot think of any time so old 
That some "I love you" was not gladly told 
To some one listening gladly ; each remove 
Of the long lingering centuries does but prove 
Its deathlessness ; — and we to-day who hold 
Each other dear as if young Love had sold 
To us alone his birthright from above, — 

Love's secret ours alone, — turn back to seek 

In the rich types of Roman art or Greek 

Some fitting gift wherewith t(' fitly speak 

A love that each heart to the other drew ; — 

An old, old story it may seem to you ; 

To us, each year more beautiful, more new. 



56 TI^^^ RING OF AMETHYST. 



DOUBT. 

Tell me, my friend ; 
Across your faith (which, pardon me, I know 
To be sincere and honest ; else, indeed, 
I had not spent this hour with you here ;) 
Across your faith, then, does there never creep 
A haunting doubt it may not all be true ? 
For me, although my life were spanned above 
With faith as honest as your own, if once 
On the horizon there Jiad dawned a doubt 
No bigger than a pigmy's little hand, 
Then heaven would be always overcast 
With possible untruth, and I should think 
The stars I saw were but poor will-o'-the-wisps 
Created in my brain, beyond which rolled 
The eternal darkness of a blank despair. 
Whereas now, living underneath a sky 
Continually clouded, — when a rift 
Shows me a tender heavenly blue beyond, 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



I fancy then the darkness overhead 
May be a gathered mist of my poor brain, 
Beyond which rolls, immortal and unstained. 
The glory of the everlasting Truth ! 



5; 



58 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



I KNOW MYSELF THE BEST-BELOVED 
OF ALL." 



KNOW myself the best-beloved of all 
The many dear to him ; yet not indeed 



Because of his swift thought for every need 
Of my love's craving ; I could scarcely call 
My very own the power to enthrall 

Such chivalry as his, that turns to heed 
Each slightest claim, nor thinks to ask the meed 
Of love returned where love's sweet offerings fall. 

Not then because of all he is to me ; 
But by this surer token ; when he earns 
The right to his own happiness, or yearns 

For some sweet, sudden, answering sympathy, 
Ah me ! with what quick-beating heart I see 
For his own joy it is to me he turns ! 



THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 59 



OCTOBER. 

The very air 
Has grown heroic ; a few crimson leaves 
Have fallen here ; yet not to yield their breath 
In pitiful sighing at so sad a fate, 
But royally, as with spilt blood of kings. 
The full life throbs exultant in my veins. 
Till half ashamed to wear so high a mood. 
Not for some splendid triumph of the soul. 
But simply in response to light and air, 
Slowly I let it fall. 

And later, steal 
Down the broad garden-walk, where cool and clear 
The sharp-defined white moonlight marks the path. 
Not the young moon that shy and wavering down 
Trembled through leafy tracery of the boughs 
In happy nights of June ; the peace that wraps 
Me here is not the warm and golden peace 
Of summer afternoons that lull the soul 



6o THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

To dreamy indolence ; but strong white peace, 
Peace that is conscious power in repose. 
No fragrance floats on the autumnal air ; 
The white chrysanthemums and asters star 
The frosty silence, but their leaves exhale 
No passion of remembrance or regret. 
The perfect calmness and the perfect strength 
My senses wrap in an enchanted robe 
Woven of frost and fire ; while in my soul 
Blend the same mingled sovereignty and rest ; 
As if indeed my spirit had drained deep 
Some delicate elixir of rich wine, 
Ripened beneath the haughtiest of suns, 
Then cooled with flakes of snow. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 6l 

SERENITY. 

ER days are as a silver- flowing stream ; — 
Above, the rippling sunbeams flash and 
gleam ; 
Beneath, strong currents noiseless as a dream. 

Her heart is like the lilies that bloom wide 
In restful beauty on the restless tide. 
Asking not where the eager waters glide. 

Her thoughts are white-winged birds, that from 

below 
To the high heavens soar and vanish so — 
Alas ! mine cannot follow where they go. 

Her joys are bright-winged birds that from on high 
Come singing down, and tempt the stream to try 
And sing with them as they flit singing by. 

Her sorrows — she has none her heart will own ; 
The air is silent when the birds have flown ; 
But the poor stream still sings the song, alone. 



62 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



A YEAR AGO TO-DAY, LOVE. 



YEAR ago to-day, love, for the space 
Of a brief sudden moment, richly fraught 
With deeper meaning than our light hearts 
thought, 
You held my hand and looked into the face 
Which, poor in gifts, has since by God's good grace 
Grown dear to you ; — and the full year has 

brought 
Friendship — and love — and marriage ; yet has 
taught 
My heart to call you in its sacred place 

Still by the earliest name ; for you who are 
My lover and my husband, and who bring 
Heaven close around me, will not let me cling 

To that near heaven ; but tempt my soul afar 
By your ideals for me ; till life end, 
My calm, dispassionate, sincerest frieiid. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 63 

STEADFAST. 

Not like the stars that high in heaven 
Shine so serenely with unchanging rays 
That marveling at their calmness, you believe 
Of their " firm-fixed and lasting quality" 
There is no type upon the earth beneath. 
A few weeks hence look up, and you shall find 
Each steadfast planet steadfastly has moved 
Across the midnight azure of the sky 
With silent rays still tranquil and serene. 
Not steadfast like the stars is she I love. 
But as this gem I wear upon my breast ; 
Whose rich rays wander from me through the room, 
Sparkling and fading with capricious gleam 
Of light and color, like the varying moods 
Of my beloved one ; those who turn to praise 
The beauty of the gem, admire most 
The changefulness of its most restless rays ; 
Yet I feel no uneasiness or doubt ; 
Knowing full well whenever I look down 
Upon my breast, the jewel will be there. 



64 THE RING OF AMETHYST, 



WITH A CRYSTAL LION. 



FOR L. R. W. 



EEP watch and ward, 
In stately guard, 
Around my Una's wayward feet ; 

Not lest she tread 

False ways instead 
Of higher paths, serenely sweet ; — 

But lest in care 

For all who share 
Her tender ministry, too late 

Her frail strength yield ; — 

Be thou her shield ; 
They also serve who sometimes wait ! 

Of crystal, clear 
As in its sphere 
Her lofty spirit moves alway ; — 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Of massive strength 
As all at length 
Will find who make her soul their stay ;- 

With flowers and buds 

Whose sweetness floods 
The air even when we cannot see ; — 

This gift I send 

My earliest friend ; — 
Dear type of all she is to me I 



66 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

ABSENT-MINDED. 

OU chide me that with self-absorbed, rapt 
eyes 

I seem to walk apart, nor care to clasp 
Familiar hands once dear ; like one whose house 
Filled with the guests of her own choosing, rings 
With sounds of gladness, yet who steals away 
Up to some silent chamber of her own, 
Forgetful of the duties of a host. 

But is not she 
The truest and most hospitable friend 
Who, noting suddenly among her guests 
An unexpected comer, one to whom 
She fain would show high honor and respect, 
Hastens away with busy feet awhile 
To throw wide open to the sun and air 
Some long-untenanted fair chamber, rich 
With storied heirlooms of her ancestors. 
Bright with long windows looking towards the sun, 
Waiting but for an occupant ? 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Even so 
Have I but stolen quietly away, 
Within the happy silence of my heart 
A lovely, sunny chamber to prepare 
For a new-comer. 



67 



68 rilE RING OF AMETHYST. 



ANSWERED PRAYER. 



.\THER, whose tenderness has wrapped me 
round 



In a great need, — to what shall I compare 
Strength thou hast sent in answer to my prayer ? 
Not to the help some falling vine has found, 
That trailing listless on the frozen ground 
Clings suddenly to some high trellis there, 
Lifting itself once more into the air 
With timid tendrils on the lattice wound. 
Rather to help the drooping plant has won, 
That weary with the beating of the rains 
Feels quickening in its own responsive veins 
The sudden shining o^ a distant sun. 
When from within the strength and gladness are, 
My soul knows that its help comes from afar. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 69 



EXPRESSION. 

A wave 
Throbs restless in the darkness on the sea. 
Glorious in heaven shines a strong white star, 
Sending long slender lines of level light 
Serenely through the stillness ; and the wave 
Takes to its heart the beautiful bright thing, 
Unconscious that it now stands self-revealed 
In its own palpitating restlessness. 
" How very strange," it murmurs to itself, 
*' That a great radiant star should tremble so, 
Even as I do ; and more strange it seems. 
That it should be so willing to betray 
Itself by shining." 

And meanwhile in heaven 
The star, with eyes fixed only upon God, 
Sweeps through the stately circles of the skies 
In motion grand as silence ; undisturbed 
And self-contained ; not dreaming that below, 



70 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



A little wave whose tremulous young heart 
Has caught a little of its brightness, thinks 
To read and to interpret for itself 
The heavenly mysteries. 

Even so I hear 
Men call it strange that poets should reveal 
The sacred secrets of their inmost souls 
To every idlest reader. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST, 



71 



FULFILLMENT. 

URN bright, O sunset sky, with tints Hke 

f 



wine 

From all the west let the glad tidings shine, 
So beautiful a joy is to be mine. 

O little lily, lean into the gloom ! 

Pour from thy deep cup all its rare perfume, 

Sweeter will be my joy when it shall bloom. 

Sing gayly, that the richer world with me 
May so rejoice in joy that is to be, 
O little birds upon the Maple tree ! 

happy heart, send up to eyes and cheek 
The gladness that I have no words to speak ; 
The fairest ones too powerless and weak. 

Nay, burning sky, hide thy too brilliant glow ! 

1 would not that the curious world should knoAV 
The sacred joy that now has blessed me so. 



72 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



little lily, leaning from the gloom, 

Hold thy too fragrant breath, that there be room 
In the deep stillness for my heart to bloom. 

Hush, little birds upon the Maple tree ! 

1 cannot hear, ye sing so noisily, 

The sweeter song my soul would sing to me. 

O happy lids, droop over happy eyes, 
Lest all the marvel of their dear surprise 
Escape once more to the far Paradise, 

From which joy came so gently to my breast, 

Forevermore to be its cherished guest ; 

Not seeking there, but bringing, heavenly rest. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 73 



'• THERE WILL BE SILENCE HERE, LOVE. 



HERE will be silence here, love, in the slow 
Long summer months when there are none 



to break 
The stillness with the laugh of those who wake 
New-born each day to joy ; and yet I know 
The stillness cannot be so still, or grow 
So deeply soundless, but that for my sake 
The memory-haunted, lonely rooms will take 
Some echo of my vanished voice ; — even so, 
Amid the scenes to which I have no choice 
But go without thee, dearest, there will be 
No gayety so gay, no glad light glee 
Wherein with others I, too, must rejoice. 
But through it all my heart will make for me 
Silence, wherein I shall but hear thy voice. 



74 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



FAITH IN WORKS. 



Y faith begins where your reHgion ends : 
In service to mankind. Th'is single thread 
Is given to guide us through the maze of Hfe. 
You start at one end, I the other ; — you, 
With eyes fixed only upon God, begin 
With lofty faith, and seeking but to know 
And do His will who guides the universe, 
You find the slender and mysterious thread 
Leads down to earth, with God's divine command 
To help your fellow-men ; but this to me 
Is something strangely vague ; I see alone 
The fellow-men, the suffering fellow-men. 
Yet with a cup of water in my hand 
For all who thirst, who knows but I one day. 
Following faithfully the slender thread. 
May reach its other end, and kneel at last 
With you in heaven at the feet of God ? 



THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. - 5 



No. 33— A PORTRAIT." 
FOR R. H. L. 



ITH careless step I wander through the hall, 
Scarce heeding many a work of lovely art ; 

Till with a sudden thrill my listless heart 
Leaps up to greet upon a stranger's wall 
Those dear remembered eyes ; — her face, with all 

The dreamy charm that made so sweet a part 

Of my life once ; — and tender memories start 
To meet her at her unexpected call. 

True portrait of the unforgotten face, 
How do I thank thee, that dost give me here 
Tidings from her, so distant yet still dear 
To me ; — for as I bid the painting tell 
If all be well with her, its pictured grace 
Answers beyond all doubting, "// is ixiell I " 



1^ 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



LONGING. 



OT high above us with the pitiless stars, 
Nor deep below us in the soundless sea, 
Nor far away to east or westward, lie 
The little things we long for. 

Here they are ; 
Close to our hands, the eager, restless hands 
That fain would grasp them ; and no fetters bind 
The wistful fingers ; no relentless fate 
Tells us we must not ; we are wholly free 
To take them if we choose. 

And yet — and yet — 
We dare not ! lest the soul should wake some day, 
Years hence, perhaps, to sense of other needs. 
God save us ever from those sudden moods 
When all life narrows to a single point. 
And when the poor heart seizes its desire. 
Only to wake to deeper restlessness. 
But after all, what matter ? would it be 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



77 



Harder to wake years hence to sense of thirst 
Than to stand thirsty now ? for sunny wine 
Sparkles before us, and a precious pearl, 
Eager to lose its life upon our lips. 
Waits but our instant grasping to dissolve 
Its costly beauty in the nectar. 

Nay ! 
We have no right to the white lovely pearl. 
God give us strength not to stretch out our hands ! 
See ! they are slipping slowly from our reach — 
Fading into the darkness — 

They are gone — 
The little things we longed for ! 



yS THE RLYG OF AMETHYST. 



THE NEW DAY. 



UPREME through all the hours of the day 
I hold one sweetest : not the day or hour, 
Dear, when you came to me ; nor yet the flower 
Of perfect days, though that is sweet alway, 
When your love came to me ; I cannot say 
Why these are not divinest in their power ; 
Yet as each new day comes, it brings for dower 
One moment whose rich gladness will outweigh 
All others : that first moment when the night 
Yields to the daylight's clear and vivid blue ; 
And waking to things real from things that seem. 
My eager eyes unclose to the fair light, 
Still undeceived ; to find their visions true. 
And that your love for me was not my dream. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



CONFESSION. 

The eager year 
Is passing, with Its triumphs and defeats. 
AHke earth rests from labor and from joy ; 
Hushing each tiniest insect, wearing now 
No careless ornament of flower or leaf ; 
Reaching her pleading arms up to the sky 
In longing for its silent chrism of snow 
In benediction ; like a weary heart. 
That worn with spent emotion, sinks at last 
Into exhaustion that almost seems rest. 
Not brooding over her lost violets, 
High in her hands upon the leafless trees 
She holds the woodbine, swaying in the wind, 
A crimson rosary of remembered sins. 

How shall we keep this solemn festival, 
Thou, O my heart, and I ? have we no sins 
It would be well, confessing here to-night, 



79 



8o THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

To know forgiven ? Not to some gentle friend 
Whose tenderness ere half the tale were told 
Would silence it with kisses ; but before 
A more severe tribunal in my own 
Exacting soul, that could endure no blot 
Upon the scutcheon of its spotless truth. 
Not without hope of pardon ; for the soul 
Is sponsor to the heart ; if she can tell 
Of purest purpose loftily upheld, 
We need not be so sad, my heart and I, 
To wear a little while upon our breast 
The crimson rosary. 

And when the soul 
Shall speak at last the full '' Absolve /^," 
Then w^ll we lay forevermore aside 
These memories of fault. Earth does not wear 
Her scarlet woodbine all the year, to pain 
Her beating heart with constant self-reproach. 
Content with frank and full confession once, 
The trembling vine, with sighing of the wind, 
Drops slowly, one by one, its deep red leaves. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST, 

So having won forgiveness from myself, 
Listening I hear the far-off harmonies 
Of solemn chant in heaven : " Though thy sins 
Had bceii as scarlet^ they shall be like wool." 
God's benediction calms my troubled heart, 
Pained with its consciousness of frailty, 
Even as upon the fading crimson leaves 
Fall tenderly the first white flakes of snow. 



82 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



"AMONG THOSE JOYS FOR WHICH WE 
UTTER PRAISE." 



MONG those joys for which we utter praise 
That were not in our lives one year ago ; — 
(No need to name them, dearest ; for you know 
Each one that came, our ignorant hearts to raise 
To love's high level ;) let us count the days 
Before we knew each other ; days when no 
Sweet premonition of love's full rich glow 
Gleamed on the darkness of our separate ways. 
All preludes should be simple ; that no dream 
Or hint of this new beauty came to fill 
The unconscious hours with meaning, does but seem 
Fit introduction to the joys that thrill 
Our glad souls now, from love that knew no still 
Awaking, — but dawned instantly supreme. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 83 



BECAUSE. 

OT because you are gentle of speech, 
O brave knight of mine ! 



Nor because in the chivalrous list 

With the brightest you shine ; 

Nor because when you pass on the street 

All the world turn to praise 

The wonderful charm of your look 

And grace of your ways ; 

Nor because in your presence I know 

I have but to command, 

And the coveted treasures at once 

Will fall from your hand ; 

Nor because by Hie glance of your eyes 

That so tenderly drew 

My whole heart unto yours, I may know 

I am perfect to you ; 

But because in your presence, dear, / 
Grow gentle of speech ; 



34 THE RING OF AMETHYST, 

The haughty young maiden who once ' 

Was so wilful to teach ; 

And because when I pass on the street 

All the world turn to praise 

A certain new charm in my look 

And grace in my ways ; 

And because in your presence I lose 

The proud wish to command ; 

Contented, nay eager, dear love, 

To be led by your hand ; 

And because your eyes full of reproach 

At some things that I do. 

Still show the belief I shall grow 

To be worthy of you ; — 

Do I love you ? 'twere idle indeed 

To refuse now to yield ; 

Quite useless for lips to deny 

What the eyes have revealed ; 

Yet not, (let me say it, for fear 

That too vain you should be — ) 

Not so much for what you are yourself, 

As for what yOu make me ! 



THE RING OF A ME TH YST. g 5 



IVY. 

HREADING its noiseless way among fair 
things 



Love-chosen to make beautiful my room, 
The ivy spreads its tender living gloom, 
Darkening and brightening the wall ; now clings 
Closely around some picture, and now swings 
Some airy shoot of tremulous young bloom 
Into the freer sunlight ; till the doom 
Of their slow silent fate together brings 
At last the branches that for long years went 
Their single, separate ways. Did no swift thrill 
Of subtle recognition flash, and fill 
Their veins ? Oh Ivy, still must we lament 
Thou canst not with our joy in thee have part, 
And thyself know how fair a thing thou art ! 



86 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



INFLUENCE. 

Hearts that are glad 
Beat quicker for the smiling of her lips ; 
Even as the summer air that seems o'ercharged 
With fragrance, will grow even sweeter still 
At sudden blossoming of one more rose. 

But the rose, too, 
Has her own secret. From the heavenly blue, 
Regnant upon his throne of light, the sun 
Sends her his glances ; till the timid rose 
Slowly, leaf after leaf, unveils to him 
Her beauty ; and the summer air at once 
Takes to itself the soft and fragrant sigh, 
Nor dreams she offered to a distant sun 
The incense of her soul. 

Even so I hear 
You praise a sudden sweetness in her ways, 
Grown strangely kind and tender to us all ; 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

For me, I recognize the o'erfull heart, 
Trembling and faint with effort to express 
Surcharge of beauty that her soul has drawn 
From one who stood above her. 



87 



8 8 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 



MIRACLE. 



F love had found me in cold cheerless ways 
And led me forth into the light ; — if bloom 
Of sweet and sudden flowers, instead of gloom 
In the long nights and unillumined days, 
Thy love had brought me ; — then at love's high praise 
I had not so much wondered ; — if the doom 
Of pitiless destiny had given room 
To thy bright presence , — then in swift amaze 
I were less awed than now. No life could be 
More sweet than that past life of mine, I thought ; 
And when the changing years in fulness brought 
Another life enriched by love and thee, 
That all my beautiful past should seem as naught, — 
This is the miracle Love wrought for me ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



" SHE CAME AND WENT." 

S a shy bird that startled from her nest 
Wings lier far way into the highest blue, 



39 



Nor dreams that she has left us any clue 

To find which elm tree had been loved the best ; 

Though all the while its light boughs, fluttering 
In the deep noonday silence, softly beat 
Their soundless echoes to her flying feet 
Now swiftly in the blue air vanishing : — 

So haply you would keep a secret, dear, 
Your unseen presence in my little room. 
That glorified into unwonted bloom 
Betrays to me what fair guest has been here. 

Who else, dear, in my absence would have thought 
To close the favorite book, left open here 
Where a disputed passage was made clear 
By a few words with tedious patience sought ; — 



90 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Then with a sudden and repentant grace 
That all the mischief of its fault bereft, 
Have found the very page again, and left 
A rose in the shut book to mark the place. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST, 91 

DREAMERS. 
I. 

SAW her, though with earnest eyes bent low, 
Unheedful of the violets at her feet, 
That clustering in purple fragrance sweet 
Touched her white dress ; absorbed in revery so, 
She knew not that the morning sunshine's glow 
Was for her sake ; and robins, fain to greet 
So fair a lady with a love-song meet, 
No recognition won from her below. 

dreamer of a dream thy heart shall see 
Crowned with fulfillment when the dawn of day 
Has deepened into noontide's richer gleam,— 
Lest I too rudely should awaken thee, 

With hushed and reverent step I steal away, 
Praying God bless the dreamer and the dream ! 
II. 

1 saw her with her tearful eyes raised high, 
Unheedful of the whirling flakes of snow, 
That flitting through the sad air to and fro 



92 



THF RING OF AMErilYST. 



Flecked her dark dress ; cold from the leaden sky, 

The autumn winds came sobbing restless by, 

Wailing to find it still so cold below ; 

While faded violets of a year ago. 

Pressed to her lips, hushed her own rising cry. 

lonely dreamer of a dream long flown, 

1 come to waken thee ! for dying day 

In purple twilight shrouds the noontide gleam ; 
And when the lovely visions that have grown 
So fair and dear flit vanishing away, 
God blesses dreamers who no longer dream. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 03 



ANDROMEDA. 

OOSEN my arms ! leave me one poor hand 
free, 



That I may shut one moment from my sight 
The dreadful heaving of the shuddering sea ! 
For as it creeps back slowly from my feet, 
Rise from its inky depths swift-coming waves 
Big with the terrible and nameless thing 
That soon along the shrinking sands will crawl 
To wrap me in its hideous embrace. 
I will not struggle ! leave me but one hand 
To shield the poor eyes that refuse to close ; 
For stretched and wide the fascinated lids 
Deny their office, and I needs must look ! 
What have I done, that these fair limbs of mine, 
(Nay, nay ; I meant not fair ; the gods forbid 
That I should boast !) but young and piteous 
And tender with soft flesh — O mother, take 
Your proud words back ! O nymphs, be pitiful ! 



94 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

The green waves part, and poisonous is the air ! 
Red the fangs glitter ! save me, O ye gods ! 

Nay, what is this that wraps my shuddering limbs 
With sudden coolness ? — Can it be that now 
The merciless tall cliff which all day long 
Refused its wonted shadow to protect 
My burning body from the dazzling sun, 
Relents, and spreads its gentle shade around 
To calm my reeling senses ? Nay, for more 
It seems to me like white o'ershadowing wings. 
Circling above my head. Alas ! so dim 
My poor eyes are with tears, I cannot see 
What this may be so near me ; yet it seems 
Like some young, gallant knight. Alack, good sir, 
If thou art come to free my quivering limbs. 
Know that against the gods contend in vain 
The bravest knights. And yet how like a god 
Himself he stands ! See how he spurns the ground, 
Poised with sustaining wings upon the air, 
And deals the monster a sharp, sudden blow 



THE RING OF AMETHYST, 



9S 



That sends him reeling from the trembling shore ! 
Shattered, I hear the chains fall to my feet ; 
Yet much I fear another gentler fate 
Fetters my heart anew. O valiant knight, 
If in thy sight this tearful face was fair, — 
(Fair dare I call it now ; since thou art near 
To shield me ever from the envious hate 
Of those less fair !) if worth it seemed to thee 
The dreadful daring of the doubtful fight, 
Surely that best should be thy dear reward 
Which prompted thee to struggle ; all is thine ! 
The dim eyes, dull with weeping bitter tears, 
Shall brighten at the sound of thy strong voice ; 
The frail hands, red with struggling to be free, 
Once more shall turn to lilies in thy clasp ; 
Rose-red for thee shall flush with happiness 
The poor, pale cheeks, still white with sickening fear ; 
The tired feet sustained and strong shall grow. 
Walking beside thee ; nay, dear love, not yet ; 
For still they tremble, still I seem to need 
Thy firm supporting arm around me thrown. 



96 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



Fold me then, dearest, in thy close embrace ; 
Bear me across the treacherous, yielding sands, 
To that far country which must needs be fair. 
Since thou hast followed from its chivalry. 
Where I may now forget all else but thee. 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



LOVE SONG. 



97 



REAMING of love and fame, sweetheart, 
I dreamed that a sunbeam shone 
For a wavering instant, and where it played 
A hundred flowers had grown. 
The sunshine flitting so soon away 
Was a smile thou hadst given me ; 
And the flowers that bloomed in the world for aye, 
Were the songs I wrote for thee. 

Waking to love and life, sweetheart, 

I saw fair flowers fade ; 

While still from the measureless heavens above 

The flickering sunshine played. 

The flowers fading from all men's sight 

Were the songs they had heard from me ; 

And the light that illumined the world to them. 

Was a single smile from thee ! 



g8 THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



CLOSED. 

ITHIN her' soul there is a sacred place, 
Forever set apart to holy thought ; 
There once a miracle divine was wrought, 
And common things grew fair with heavenly grace. 
Think not to know the secret of that room ; — 
Closed is the door, even to herself ; no more 
She lingers there, though well our hearts are sure 
It is no spot of shadowy, haunted gloom. 
The violets that blossom there unseen 
Were never gathered, and so never fade ; 
Breathing serenely through the gentle shade 
Their memories of all that once had been. 
When in the thoughtful twilight we, her friends, 
Walk with her, and in spirit dimly feel 
A strange, rare fragrance o'er the senses steal, 
Let us speak softly of a Past that sends 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 

Through the closed crevice of its silent door, 
No bitterness in those remembered hours ; 
But in the delicate breath of such fair flowers 
Only the sweetness of the days of yore. 



99 



100 THE RING OF AMETHYST, 



BABY-HOOD. 
M. W. R. 

EAR bird of mine, with strong and untried 
wins:, 



Ignorant yet of restless fluttering, 

How long will you be so content to sing 

For me alone ? when will the world be stirred 
By notes that even I have scarcely heard. 
Since you are still only a mocking-bird ? 

My little Clytie with the constant eyes 
Turned to me ever, though the true sunrise 
Burns far above me in God's holy skies, — 

How can you know, my sweet unconscious one, 
In the bright days for you but just begun. 
That I am worthy to be held your sun ? 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. loi 

My little loyal worshipper, the bloom 

Of whose fair face makes bright the midnight gloom, 

Turned ever steadily to my near room. 

Knowing so Avell, with instinct fine and true, 
The one glad door through which I come to you, 
Caring for naught but what that hides from view, — 

How long, dear one, how many precious years, 
Will this fair chamber where I hush your tears 
Be the one Mecca for your hopes and fears ? 

Not long, alas ! not long ; the mother heart 
Knows well how quickly she will have to part 
With all this wonder ; — she who tries each art 

To lure him on ; the first to coax and praise 
Each added grace ; .then first in sore amaze 
To mourn that he has lost his baby ways ! 



1 02 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 



"IF I COULD KNOW, LOVE." 

F I could know, love, that some single prayer 
From my full heart's supreme desires for thee, 
With rich fulfillment would be granted me 
By Him who gave us to each other, — where 
Could I find truer wish than this : '' O spare 
My life to him ! " For surely love should be 
Love's best interpreter ; an argosy 
Freighted with all earth's joy, wert thou not there, — 
Beside me always — how could I be glad 
In aught of this ? my own great speechless need, 
Not only of the love I once have had. 
But of thy presence, teaches me to read 
The deep, unspoken prayer thy heart would add 
To mine, if highest heaven could lean to heed ! 



THE RING OF A ME Til YST. 103 

THE DIFFERENCE. 

NE day I heard a little lady say, 

"O morning-glory, would that I were you ! 
Twining around the porch that lovely way. 
Where you will see my dear one coming through. 
So fair you are, he'll surely notice you. 
And wait perhaps a moment, just to praise 
The clinging prettiness of all your ways, 
And tender tint of melting white and blue. 

morning-glory, would that I were you ! " 

1 heard the little lady's lover say, 

*' O rose-white daisy, dying in the dew, 
Breathing your half-crushed, fainting life away 
Under her footstep, — would that I were you ! 
For when how cruelly she wounded you, 
She turns to see in pitying distress, 
With murmured words of sorrowing tenderness 
Close to her lips your bruised leaves she will press ; — 
O drooping daisy, would that I were you ! " 



104 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 



INDIAN SUMMER. 



Linger, O Day ! 
Let not thy purple haze 
Fade utterly away ! 
The Indian Summer lays 
Her tender touch upon the emerald hills ; 

Exquisite thrills 
Of delicate gladness fill the blue-veined air. 

More restful even than rest, 
The passionate sweetness that is everywhere. 
Soft splendors in the west 
Touch with the charm of coming changefulness 
The yielding hills. 
O linger, Day ! 
Let not the dear 
Delicious languor of thy dreamfulness 
Vanish away ! 
Serene and clear, 
The brooding stillness of the delicate air, 
Dreamier than the dreamiest depths of sleep, 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 10$ 

Falls softly everywhere. 
Still let me keep 
One little hour longer tryst with thee, 
O Day of days ! 
Lean down to me, 
In tender beauty of thy amethyst haze ! 
Upon the vine 
Rich, clinging clusters of the ripening grape 
Hang silent in the sun ; 
But in each one 
Beats with full throb the quickening purple wine 
Whose pulse shall round the perfect fruit to shape. 
Too dreamy even to dream, 
I hear the murmuring bee and gliding stream ; 
The singing silence of the af cernoon 
Lulling my drowsy senses till they swoon 
Into still deeper rest ; 
While soul released from sense. 
Passionate and intense, 
With quick, exultant quiver in its wings. 
Prophetic longing for diviner things. 



1 06 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 

Escapes the unthinking breast ; — 

Pierces rejoicing through the shining mist, 

But shrinks before the keen, cold ether, kissed 

By burning stars : dehrious foretaste 

Of joys the soul — (too eager in its haste 

To grasp ere won by the diviner right 

Of birth through death) — is far too weak to bear I 

Bathed in earth's lesser light, 

Slipping down slowly through the shining air, 

Once more it steals into the dreaming breast, 

Praying again to be its patient guest ; 

And as my senses wake. 
The beautiful glad soul again to take. 
The twilight falls ;— 
A lonely wood-thrush calls 
The Day away. 
Thou needst not linger, Day ! 
My soul and I 
Would hold high converse of diviner things 
Than blossom underneath thy tender sky. 
Unfold thy wings ! 



THE RING OF AMETHYST. 107 



Wrap softly round thyself thy delicate haze, 
And gliding down the slowly darkening ways, 
Vanish away ! 



: o8 THE RING OF A ME TH YS T. 



''LAST— AN AMETHYST." 

Igsssai THOU in whom, not knowing, I believe, 

l^sSall If in these uttered phrases there is naught 

Of that supreme, deep language of Thy thought 

Men call religion — yet wilt Thou receive 

The finished task ; though I have dar^^d to leave 

Unseen, but not unfelt, though best unsought, 

As Thou thyself to my own heart hast taught, 

The solemn truths that so will strongest cleave 

Unto men's souls. My hand would fain forget 

Its eager cunning, ere the fingers kissed 

By one whose love Thou gavest me, should yet 

Yield all to joy, uncaring if they list, — 

Thy angels — from the heavenly parapet 

Of precious stones : " the twelfth, an amethyst ! " 



